there is a certain kind of everybody's grandfather who has survived the war (wherever the war was) who likes bear claws. "don't bother putting it in a bag."

i am profiling you.

men talk to me more when i wear makeup.

it is warm and i have money now but am still working on the part with "friends". two weeks ago i went out with a guy from work. i had spent all day in bed with a fever and probably should have stayed there, but i was determined to not cancel my first (and only) social event in the seven months since i have moved here. i felt as though i had forgotten how to have a face-to-face honest conversation; i'm not so good at it any more.

very much a sea of aloneness and my hair smells like bread. is this adulthood?